Instead of turning back to the window, she faced Henry and dipped her cloth in the bucket. She stayed there, in full frontal view of her husband, and ...egan to wipe again. Her hand went right, her breasts swung left. Back and forth, a counterpoint of mopping movements. Henry sat on his heels, his hands lifeless, his eyes glued to his wife’s chest. Just how long had he held this fantasy? Lynn smirked to herself and found a stubborn heel smear on the floor. She scrubbed intensely. Her tits. "You look fine," I said. "Typical young girl. Maybe cuter than a lot of them."She hit a pose I hadn't yet seen from her, twisting on one leg, looking over a shoulder. "Only maybe?" Maybe MORE than 'maybe'."Her eyes met mine. That grin. I think I know who it's for.Made a good start to the day. I suggested her breakfast order, then let her sample different items from my plate."This is American breakfast? Again?" The biscuit and gravy is a Southern thing. French toast? I learned in a Cajun. More

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